Titanic (Calzona)
by missineichen
Summary: Penniless Arizona meets Lady Calliope, aboard the Titanic. A passionate love affair ensues.
1. My Heart will Go On

**BOOK I: SHIP OF DREAMS**

The woman brushed the wispy copper hair from her eyes, pulling her coat tightly against herself. Pressing the microphone against her lips, she spoke loudly, trying to counteract the wintry howls of the Canadian winds.

"This is Tracy Hunt reporting live for CNN. On today's agenda is the story of treasure hunter Brock Karev. He is best known for finding Spanish gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean. Now he is using deep submergence technology to work two and a half miles down at another famous wreck… the Titanic. As we speak, I am at a seaport in Newfoundland, Canada; which is just 400 miles from where the Titanic sank. Brock Karev is with us live via satellite from a Russian research ship in the middle of the Atlantic… Hello Brock?"

"Yes, Hi, Tracy. You know, Titanic is not just A shipwreck, Titanic is _The _shipwreck. It's the Mount Everest of shipwrecks," Brock announced grandly.

With her walker in hand, Calliope Robbins waddled over to the couch, carefully easing herself onto the sofa. Switching on the morning news, her mesmerized eyes glazed over, as CNN dredged up a whirlwind of bittersweet memories. God, how she missed Arizona. With every fiber, every fiber of her wizened soul.

"I've planned this expedition for three years, and we're out here recovering some amazing things… things that will have enormous historical and educational value," Brock Karev announced.

Tracy Hunt smiled wanly, "But it's no secret that education is not your main purpose. You're a treasure hunter. So what is the treasure you're hunting?"

Brock leaned in confidentially, "I'd rather show you than tell you, and we think we're very close to just that."

Captivated by the news report, Callie turned to her granddaughter, "Lizzy sweetheart, could you turn that up please?"

"Your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights and even ethics. Many are calling you a grave robber," the redheaded reporter accused.

Brock scowled, "Nobody called the recovery of the artifacts from King Tut's tomb grave robbing. I have museum-trained experts here, making sure this stuff is preserved and catalogued properly. Look at this drawing, which was found today…"

The camera panned off Brock, focusing instead, on a tray of water containing a drawing of a beautiful young woman. Callie gasped with shock, almost falling off the couch. Her granddaughter, grasped her arm, steadying her. "Careful now, Grammy!"

"… A piece of paper that's been underwater for 84 years… and my team are able to preserve it intact. Should this have remained unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity, when we can see it and enjoy it now…?" Brock argued passionately.

"I'll be Goddamned," Callie whispered.

* * *

Brock scowled at the picture. "Stupid 84 year old Erotic Drawing," he grumbled.

He stared at it with a confusing mixture of disappointment and lust. It was a dainty soft-pencil sketch of a beautiful young voluptuous Hispanic woman with caramel skin, alluring dark deep-set eyes, plump rose-petal lips, and a thick mane of shiny raven hair. She lay naked and vulnerable, her lips curled upwards at one corner in an inviting smile. Both arms were raised above her head, filling the image with unspoken come-hither desire.

The highlight of the sketch was the prize which lay between the silky smooth curves of her bare bosom. The _Heart of the Ocean._

Brock sighed grouchily, moping over the team's utterly useless discovery. After years of scouring the corners of the ocean, and finally dragging the heavy black Safe from its watery grave, all he had to show for it was some early-20th century Porno Picture! Beautiful as she was, this _probably-now-dead_ woman was not going to render Brock Karev a millionaire.

"There's a satellite call for you, some old ma'am wants a word with you," Bobby O'Malley said, snapping Brock out of his private reverie.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Brock muttered sarcastically.

"Trust me, you want to take this call," Bobby O'Malley emphasised. Brock took the phone from Bobby, raising his eyebrows at the nervous young man's urgent tone.

"This is Brock Karev. What can I do for you, Mrs…"

"Calliope Iphegenia Robbins," the voice greeted.

"… Calliope Iphe-what?!" Brock demanded rudely.

"I was just wondering if you had found the _Heart of the Ocean _yet, Mr. Karev." The elderly lady asked, with a touch of mystery and intrigue in her voice.

Stunned and bewildered, Brock choked on his coffee, spilling some of it into the tray of _Ye-Old_ _Porno _sketch. "Shit!" he muttered, hastily soaking up the whirlpool of coffee, with the sleeve of his shirt. The phone slipped his grasp. Quickly fumbling for it, he shoved it against his ear.

"Hullo, hullo, you still there?!" he asked breathlessly.

Callie laughed airily, "I'm still here, Mr. Karev. Do calm yourself."

Brock forced himself into a quick recovery, "Alright. You have my attention, Calliope. Can you tell me who the woman in the picture is?"

"Oh yes. The woman in the picture is me."

* * *

My Heart will go on - Celine Dion

You're here, there's nothing I fear

And I know that my heart will go on

We'll stay forever this way

You are safe in my heart and

My heart will go on and on

**A/N:** Review, fav, follow if you'd like me to continue :)


	2. Arizona Iris Robbins

When Brock Karev hung up the phone, he barked with incredulous laughter. "She's a goddamned liar! A nutcase! She says she's Calliope Iphegenia Torres, right? But Calliope died on the Titanic at the age of 17. If she'd lived, she'd be over a hundred now!"

"A hundred and one next month," Bobby O'Malley corrected.

Brock shrugged irritably, "Okay, so she's a _very old_ goddamned liar. I traced her as far back as the 20's… she was working as a Singer-_slash_-Songwriter in L.A. Her name was Calliope Torres. Then she got with some lesbian, moved to Seattle, changed her legal name to Robbins, adopted a kid."

"What was her name, by the way?" Bobby asked curiously.

Brock clicked his tongue irritably, "What does it matter, what her name was? Arizona Iris Robbins, if you must know."

Bobby's face lit up with recognition. "Funny, I watched a late night SBS documentary about her the other day, on the ten-year anniversary of her death," he recounted.

"Pfft. What did she do to get herself on a post-mortem docco?" Brock snorted derisively.

"Apparently she was a high-profile LGBT civil rights activist. Did a lot of work pushing the removal of the Sodomy laws. Sadly, she didn't get a chance to fight for same-sex marriage, as all that started years after she retired."

Brock crinkled his nose, "Jesus, what the fuck are _sodomy_ laws?"

"A variety of laws that criminalise certain sexual acts between consenting gays adults," Bobby explained.

Brock shrugged indifferently, "Great, well good on her. In any case, we need to speak to her partner or lover or whatever you want to call it."

"Her _wife,_" Bobby corrected, irritated by Brock's contempt.

Brock rolled his eyes, "Right, well whatever. We need to speak to her wife, because everybody who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead… or on this ship. But _she _knows about it, and I want to hear what she has to say. Got it?"

* * *

A tall handsome African-American man approached Elizabeth, extending his hand. "I'm Dr. Daniel Grey-Shepherd, the surgeon who operated on your grandmother."

"How is she?" Elizabeth asked anxiously.

"I'm afraid she is suffering from end-stage heart failure, and there's nothing more modern medicine can do for her," Daniel replied gently.

Elizabeth nodded somberly, "Nothing at all?"

Daniel nodded, "I'm afraid not. She is essentially, and I say with the greatest respect, succumbing to the natural processes of life."

"You're saying Nana's dying of old age?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

"Unfortunately, yes that is the case... Perhaps you'd like to go in there, say goodbye to her?" Daniel offered gently.

Elizabeth shook her head, a half-smile playing upon her face. For the truth was, the view was greatest standing outside the ICU. She watched her Grammy seated in a plastic hospital chair, leaning into Nana. Grammy was stroking Nana's hair tenderly, and Nana was prising her oxygen mask away from her face, whispering her final words to the love of her life.

"No, I think I'll stay out here. I don't want to intrude... Some things are so beautiful, they deserve to be witnessed from the outside in," Elizabeth observed.

Daniel nodded, "Amen to that."

As Elizabeth and Daniel admired the touching view, Callie let the tears run rivulets down her face. Arizona reached one frail wrinkled hand, wiping Callie's tears away.

"No, no, dear, you mustn't cry. You remember what I told you that night in the cold icy water, all those years ago, when I thought I wouldn't survive?"

Callie nodded, "How could I forget? You made me promise to survive, to never give up no matter what," she choked out.

"That's right. And the same applies today, as it applied 75 years ago, you hear?" Arizona instructed fiercely.

Callie laughed amidst her tears, "You're so goddamned bossy, you know that? Always have been," she said with aching affection.

Arizona smiled weakly, "It's how I roll, isn't it? I force you to promise me things when I'm on Death's Door, because then I know you cannot possibly say no."

Callie shook her head, bemused. "There is a Great Manipulator under that mask of perky blondeness," she teased.

"Well, I'm not so much blonde now, as I am snow-white," Arizona corrected jokingly. She glanced up at Callie's identical snow-white hair.

"And you, my goodness. Remember you? You had that gorgeous mane of thick shiny black hair! Good Lord, what's happened to you?" Arizona teased.

Callie snorted with laughter, "I was quite the Dish, wasn't I?"

"Don't I know it," Arizona smiled.

Callie watched Arizona seriously, "We've had a good run, You and I."

Arizona smiled nostalgically, "_That_, we most certainly have. And I'll gladly take it to my grave."

Callie kissed the top of Arizona's head, "I love you so much, Arizona."

"And I love you Calliope, more than you'll ever know."

Callie's already significantly crumpled face, crumpled further. She was dangerously close to tears. "Now don't you start with the tears, Calliope, for I have one final request…"

"Control-Freak," Callie snorted affectionately. "You're gonna boss me around, till Death do us Part, are you?"

"You bet your ass, I am!" Arizona chortled. She paused momentarily, taking a deep shuddering breath.

Callie's face fell, "Arizona, what is it?" she asked anxiously.

"I… I want you to tell our story, Callie."

Callie gasped in shock. "I thought you wanted that to be the one and only thing we never shared with anyone… Something that is strictly and solely _Ours_."

"Sweetheart, I'm dying… and you're not exactly a spring chicken anymore," Arizona smiled sadly.

"You're worried our story will die with us," Callie whispered. Arizona nodded mutely, afraid to speak lest she cry.

Callie kissed Arizona's hand, "Well then, Arizona Iris Robbins. I would be honoured to share our story with the World."

* * *

Arizona Iris Robbins

12 November 1894 – 29 March 1987

Beloved Wife of Calliope;

Mom of Sophia; Grandma of Elizabeth;

And Great Grandma of Cruz and Carlos


	3. Iris

Callie sat before the circle of eager young faces. She had plaited her long silver hair neatly to one side (Just the way Arizona loved it). Around her left wrist, was a single smooth band of pale Jade gifted to her by that very same woman, ten years ago.

Callie gazed at the drawing in its tray of water, confronting herself across a span of 84 years. She could see her wrinkled prune-like appearance reflected in the water, and my goodness, what a far cry she was from the naked Spanish Lolita in the pencil-sketch before her.

Callie pictured herself right back to that secret place, her bare skin against the smooth velvet of the couch; the free flow of Arizona's left hand, the raw scritch-scratch of charcoal to paper, the coolness of the precious stone against her bare caramel bosom; and above all else, the unspoken sexual electricity between Artist and Muse.

"_Don't move," Arizona had whispered, where Callie had giggled… "Stay still," Arizona had spoken, where Callie had shifted self-consciously under Arizona's white-hot gaze… My God, those sky-blue eyes of hers, so earnest, so intense that day. The way tendrils of blonde fell in her eyes as she drew, the way she bit her lower lip with concentration. How Callie had yearned to bite that sweet lip for her. Only she wasn't a woman to tease, for she took that Dime seriously. Callie was a paying customer, after all__…_

Brock Karev pushed a reference photo of the necklace under Callie's nose, instructing her on its monetary value. "Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the _Blue Diamond of the Crown, _which disappeared in 1792, about the time Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped to recut into a heart-like shape, and it became _Le Coeur e la Mer. _The _Heart of the Ocean. _Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond."

Callie smiled a lamenting half-smile. Frankly, to her mind, Arizona's drawing _of _the necklace was infinitely more precious to her than the necklace itself; the latter having been gifted to her, by certain cheating scoundrel she once knew. All those years ago, when that frivolous almost-husband of hers had placed it around her neck, it had weighed her down, like a figurative Ball-and-Chain. It seemed _Anchor of the Ocean _was a more appropriate name for this necklace.

"It was a dreadful, heavy thing… I only wore it this once," she mentioned, gesturing to the drawing.

Her granddaughter's eyes widened with disbelief, "You actually believe this is you, Grammy?"

"It _is_ me, dear," Callie emphasised. "Wasn't I a hot number?"

The room burst into bemused chuckles. Who is this adorably deluded lady? Somebody get her to the Alzheimer's Clinic, pronto! She might as well have told everyone she was Cleopatra Queen of Egypt, for all their disbelief. Brock felt foolish interviewing this _Soft-in-the-Head _individual. Nonetheless, he figured he'd test her knowledge with a question only he and his Team knew the answer to. That would certainly settle the matter once and for all.

"I tracked the necklace down through insurance records, and chanced upon an old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Do you know who the claimant was, Calliope?" he questioned.

"Someone named Sloan, I should imagine," Callie replied without pause or hesitation.

The entire room fell into stunned silence. Everyone glanced around at each other, in utter amazement. Brock's throat felt instantly parched dry. My God, he was sitting before _the_ Calliope Iphegenia Torres, in the flesh! The granddaughter frowned, confused by the commotion. Callie smiled to herself, happy to be the creator of such jaw-dropping excitement. She winked at her granddaughter, who returned her gaze with quizzical confusion. _How have I not heard Grammy tell this story before?! _Elizabeth wondered to herself.

Brock forced himself into recovery, his voice escaping him like a strangled squeak. "You're absolutely right! Mark Everett Sloan. An L.A.-based Events-Management Tycoon. He bought the necklace in France for his fiancée… _You_," Brock gestured to Callie, "…a week before he sailed on Titanic. And the claim was filed right after the sinking. So the diamond had to have gone down with the ship."

Brock turned to Elizabeth, "See the date?"

"April 14, 1912," Elizabeth read out.

"If your grandma is who she says she is, she was wearing the diamond the day the Titanic sank," Brock spoke breathlessly.

He threw his arm around Callie's shoulder, "And _that _makes you my new best friend. I'll happily compensate you for anything you can tell us that will lead to its recovery," he babbled deliriously.

Put off by the greedy beady-eyed Brock, Callie pulled away from him. She swore she could almost see cartoon Dollar-signs in the salivating young man's eyes.

"I don't want your money, Mr. Karev. I know how hard it is for people who care greatly for money to give some away," she answered, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Brock cocked his head to the side, perplexed. "You won't want anything? Then why are you here?"

_Because she wanted me to tell our story. It was her Final Wish, ten years ago, the love of my life… She could see Arizona in her mind's eye. Wispy pixie-cropped white hair, fair weathered skin, colourful woven-cloth LGBT civil rights bracelet, smooth white-gold wedding band, hands folded neatly over her chest, closed eyes and an expression devoid of pain or regret. Only peace and fulfillment. Asleep in a smooth Mahogany box. Callie hadn't cried that day, for there was nothing to cry about. She had been gifted with 75 years With Arizona. There was only gratitude. _

"Ma'am?" Brock said, snapping Callie out of her private reverie. Callie nodded at the drawing, "You may give me this, if anything I tell you is of value."

Brock grinned, proffering his hand. "DEAL!"

"Floor's all yours, ma'am," Bobby O'Malley nodded. Callie took a deep calming breath. My God, she was really going to do it_…_ Share their story with the world.

"It's been 84 years…" Callie began uncertainly.

"Just tell us what you can," Brock interrupted over-zealously. Callie held up a single weathered hand, demanding silence. The room fell quiet, watching the compelling elderly lady intently. _This is it. The missing link to our Fame and Fortune! All of it lies right here, in this Dinosaur…_

"It's been 84 years… and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in," Callie began grandly.

Her audience looked instantly captivated. Elizabeth smiled. Grammy had always been a fabulous storyteller. Without taking his eyes off the fascinating old lady, Brock fumbled for his mini-recorder, setting it on a table beside her. Elizabeth clasped her grandma's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Callie closed her eyes, losing herself in_ their_ story. She had never told this story in her life, and after all this time, good lord, it felt wonderful to open up. As cathartic as releasing a caged dove.

"Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams. And it was. It really was…"

* * *

Iris - Goo Goo Dolls

And I'd give up forever to touch you

'Cause I know that you feel me somehow

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

And I don't want to go home right now


	4. Run

It was the summer of April 10, 1912. The magnificent mega-structure towered over the terminal buildings like a skyline of the city. The Ship of Dream's pristine white contrasted with the crisp blue of the Southampton Sky. The English air buzzed with the sights, sounds, colours and movements of an energetic nation, eager to witness the Ship's long-awaited departure.

From amongst the crowd, a sleek white Renault pulled up to the wharf. A uniformed driver scurried out of the car, eager to release the car's most precious cargo: A sullen raven-haired café au latte teenaged beauty. Lady Calliope Iphegenia Torres… Soon to be Lady Calliope Iphegenia _Sloan._

The heels of Callie's royal blue oriental-silk ballet flats clicked against the pavement, as Callie stepped out of the Renault. Slipping a single gloved hand around her father's arm, Callie glanced upwards, appraising the Titanic with cool unimpressed eyes.

"Frankly Papa, I don't see what all the fuss is about. It doesn't look any bigger than the Seattle-Grace," she commented.

Carlos Torres chuckled, "You can be blasé about some things, Calliope, but not about Titanic. It's over a hundred feet longer than Seattle-Grace, and far more luxurious. It has squash courts, a Parisian café… even Turkish baths."

Callie shrugged indifferently. Carlos threw her a meaningful look, "Come now, Calliope. As your father, I am willing to put up with your challenging behaviour, but it is my hope you'll be a proper lady in the presence of your wonderful fiancé."

"Please, Papa. He couldn't even be bothered to get here on time. So much for _wonderful _fiancé," Callie replied sourly.

"It's unreasonable for you to expect him to constantly be at your beck and call. He works hard to provide for you, Calliope. I'm sure he's busy finalizing a business deal, or making some important calls," Carlos chided.

"More like _Booty _Calls," Callie snorted derisively.

By now, Carlos's patience had been worn quick to the bone. With reddened face and flaring nostrils, he grasped his daughter roughly by the elbow. "Do you have any idea how wealthy Sir Mark Sloan is?! He is this family's only hope-"

Carlos paused mid-sentence, as he caught a glimpse of his savior hurrying towards the wharf. He hastily released his grip on his daughter, and she rubbed her arm gingerly, glaring at him with impunity. Taking a deep calming breath, Carlos plastered a fake smile for the man who would save them with his infinite riches.

"Sorry I'm late, Sir! Was held up with… Y'know, work stuff," Mark huffed, flushed and hassled. Callie crackled with rage, as she caught a whiff of lavender-perfume on his blazer.

Carlos grinned tightly, "Ooh no, not a problem at all! We all have to make a living, don't we, _Son?" _

Callie cringed at her father's brown-nosing use of the word 'Son'. Mark planted a quick kiss on Callie's reluctant cheek. "So, how's my little Lady?" he inquired brightly.

Callie scowled at Mark. Turning on her heel, she picked up her suitcase and trotted towards the Titanic alone. Mark and Carlos hurried after her.

"Ohhh Calliope is displeased, what to do? What to do?" Mark mocked.

Carlos sighed deeply, "Just give her some time, she'll come around."

* * *

From within the mouth of a smoky dingy pub, Olaf, the heavyset Swede smacked his contemporary across the head with the back of his hand. Arizona clapped her hands over her mouth, giggling like a schoolgirl. Jackson Avery shook his head, bemused.

"You bloody idiot! I can't believe you bet our tickets!" Olaf quarreled in Swedish.

"You're the one who pissed all our money away! I told you not to underestimate Blondie, here!" Sven snapped back.

"How was I supposed to know some life-sized Barbie could play cards?!" Olaf shot back, throwing Arizona a scathing look. Arizona winked at him cheekily.

"Din Kuksugar hora," Olaf muttered bitterly.

Sven turned to Arizona, soaking in her image. "Maybe we change bet from tickets to better prize?" he said in English.

"Fuck off. Sven here, offered two tickets for the Titanic, and that's what we'll get if we win," Jackson argued.

Sven glared at Jackson, "We not talk to you, we talk to the girl!" Sven turned back to Arizona, grinning greasily at her. "What you say, Princess? I promise you can have _me _if you win bet! Okay, lil' lady?"

"Pfft. In your dreams," Arizona scoffed. "A deal is a deal. No backing out now."

"You heard the lady," Jackson laughed.

Sven shoved the table, irritably. Olaf muttered a string of Swedish profanities, some of which included obscenely racist slurs against Jackson. The first Final Call for the Titanic's departure sounded. A single crisp trumpet sounded across the morning sky. Arizona rubbed her hands together, glancing eagerly from one face to the next.

"The moment of truth, boys! Somebody's life's about to change!" she squealed.

Sweat coursed down Olaf's beefy red face. Sven breathed loudly, and Jackson chewed on his lips nervously. Jackson and the Swedes put their cards upon the table with shaky hands. Arizona held her cards against her chest. A wicked grin spread across her face, as she toyed with the boys.

"Let's see… Avery's got niente. Olaf, you've got squat. Sven, uh oh… two pair… hmmm," Arizona appraised.

She turned to Jackson somberly, "Sorry Avery."

Jackson's eyes widened, "What?! What've you got? Did you just lose my money? Fuck!"

"Sorry, you're not gonna see your mama again for a long time…" Arizona said, slapping a Full House on the table. "Cause we're going to America! Full house boys!" she shrieked.

Jackson grabbed Arizona around the waist, dragging her into a tight hug, "Fuck yeahh America! Here we come!" he yelled, as the pair jumped up and down on the spot.

The table exploded instantly into a whirlwind of Swedish cussing, swearing and shouting. "Din inavlade kuksugare! Horunge! Din fula fan! Din mammas ackliga fittkuk!"

Arizona hastily dragged the money and the tickets towards her, "Quick, Avery! Open your bag before they crack our skulls open!"

Jackson quickly obliged, and Arizona hurriedly shoved the goodies into his bag. Olaf the fat angry Swede threw himself across the table, attempting to grab a fistful of Arizona's shirt. Sven landed a heavy fist Jackson's way, and Jackson ducked just in time.

Olaf huffed and puffed, his face red with rage, "You leeedle shits! We're going to-"

"AMERICA!" Arizona and Jackson yelled, high-fiving each other, as they pumped their little legs out of the dark dingy pub.

With all their worldly possessions in two tattered shoulder bags, the youngsters sprinted towards the pier. They tore through the milling crowds of waving loved ones; shoved past languid gentlemen puffing on cigars; leapt over piles of luggage; wove through sweaty loitering workers. Bursting out of the pier, they raced toward the third class laneway at Deck E. They arrived at the bottom of the ramp just as Officer Mercer was about to shut the heavy steel door.

"Wait! We're passengers!" Jackson yelled. Flushed and panting, he waved two tattered tickets in the air.

Officer Mercer sighed, "Fine. Come aboard."

The pair hurried inside, as Officer Mercer shut the door. The third and Final Call for the Titanic sounded, and the magnificent ship pulled out of the wharf, ready to set sail. Jackson hoisted Arizona onto his shoulders, racing along the ship's third class corridors. Seated on Jackson's shoulders, Arizona pumped her fists into the air, singing at the top of her lungs.

"They won't see us waving from such great heights! 'Come down now,' they'll say!" she crooned. She pinched Jackson's cheek affectionately, "Sing with me, Avery, my man!"

"But everything looks perfect from far away! 'Come down now,' but we'll stay!" the eccentric pair of best-buds chanted.

* * *

Run - Snow Patrol

Light up, light up

As if you have a choice

Even if you cannot hear my voice

I'll be right beside you dear


	5. Just like Heaven

Arizona and Jackson burst through a door onto the lower deck. They sprinted across the deck and up a narrow winding flight of steel stairs to the top deck. Pushing her way to the railings, Arizona threw her arms into the air, waving wildly, and yelling at the top of her lungs.

"Goodbye! Goodbye, fair ladies, fair gents!" she exclaimed.

"You know somebody?" Jackson demanded.

"Of course not. That's not the point," Arizona replied, turning her attention back to the massive crowd of waving civilians.

"Farewell all! Farewell! Do not despair, for I shall return to you some day, my Love!" she yelled.

Jackson hooted with laughter at Arizona's imaginary lover, "What?! You got a girlfriend now?!"

"A girl can dream!" Arizona retorted brightly. Jackson shook his head, bemused.

"Goodbye! I'll never forget you, my collection of Double-D Trophy Wives!" he yelled, joining in the playing-pretend fun.

Arizona punched Jackson hard in the arm, "Avery, you're disgusting!" she laughed.

* * *

The Seattle Times 05 January 1912 "Sleazy Millionaire's Demise"

Events-Management Tycoon, Sir Mark E. Sloan has been caught frolicking with various scantily clad unidentified young women upon his yacht in Seattle. This comes as a heavy blow to shareholders of his company, as his frivolous wayward behavior casts significant doubts in the minds of the Public about his reliability as the Head of an Events-Management Company whose main source of revenue comes from organizing extravagant Celebrity Weddings.

The value of shares in _Sloan Events Management Ltd _has decreased by 30 cents since the publication of his promiscuous activities. When interviewed about her confidence in the continued success of SEM Ltd, one embittered shareholder answered, "Who the devil's gonna pay for a wedding run by some hooligan who treats the Institution of Marriage as a joke?"

Nonetheless, despite SEM Ltd's current public relations disaster, SEM Ltd continues to be the first and foremost successful Events-Management company in the world, raking in millions of dollars annually.

The Seattle Times 12 April 1912 "Wedding Tycoon Ties Knot"

Sir Mark Sloan tied the knot yesterday, in an extravagant and exorbitantly expensive Engagement Party organized by none other than his very own team at _Sloan Events Management Ltd. _The Engagement follows just months after courting seventeen year old Lady Calliope Iphegenia Torres, the only child of the Knighted Sir Carlos Ricardo Torres.

Carlos currently faces imminent bankruptcy, following the insolvency of his South American cocoa-bean importation business. Given the haste with which Sir Sloan proposed to Torres, and Sir Torres's dire financial straits, it is alleged that the Sloan-Torres Union is solely one of convenience, and not one of love.

As of today, thousands of shareholders will wait with bated breath to see if Sir Sloan's engagement blossoms into marriage. For if it doesn't, no doubt the Public will once again lose faith in SEM Ltd, thus dragging Sloan's successful Billion-Dollar Empire into disarray. It is rumoured that in two days, Sir Sloan will take his fiancé aboard the Titanic, where the Marriage Certificate will be signed, thus sealing the prosperity of his company for years to come.

* * *

Sir Mark Sloan watched the girls on stage, pumping those long slender legs of theirs. They were dressed in skimpy sparkling little numbers and ten-inch plastic heels. Tacked to their backs were giant fans of brightly-coloured feathers. They resembled exotic tropical birds, as they performed their Can-Can Cabaret aboard the Titanic.

Mark's eyes fell upon his favourite dancer, a certain petite brunette, whose name he knew not. Her alabaster skin glowed under the acid-blue strobe lights. Mark hungrily soaked in every inch of her skin, as he took a deep inhalation of his cigar, and a heavy swig of his whiskey.

"Shepherd, my man, fill me up!" he slurred at a raven-haired bartender in a crimson shirt.

Derek shook his head at the pitiable sight, "Don't you think you've had enough for one night? The Titanic isn't even 200 miles out, and already you're pissed."

Mark scowled, "I don't need your sanctimonious bullshit, boy! Pour me another glass!"

Derek smiled wryly, "Fine, but don't come crying to me when you have a killer hangover tomorrow," he warned, shoving another _whiskey-on-Ice _Mark's way.

Mark held the glass up to his nose, breathing deeply. "MMMmmm… An honest sailor's drink," he appraised, knocking it back quickly.

Derek snorted derisively, "Buddy, you're anything but _honest_. How d'you think your fiance's gonna react when she sees you coming in at 3 am stinking of booze?"

"She's gonna react how she's gonna react, there's nothing I can do about it!" Mark snapped.

Derek rolled his eyes, "Now that's just not true, is it? If she's not the woman for you, you can cut her lose. It's the honourable thing to do."

Mark glared bitterly at Derek, "What would you know about honour? It's precisely because of honour that I'm marrying her, isn't it?! Her family's rolling in bundles of honour, but when it comes down to wealth, they're paupers."

"Derek, I'll have a Harvey Wallbanger please," a middle-aged African-American gentleman interrupted.

"Coming right up, Captain Webber," Derek replied, reaching for a bottle of Gilliano.

"I hope you don't plan on sailing this Ship under the Influence," Derek joked, throwing shots of vodka, Gilliano and orange juice into a mixer.

Richard rolled his eyes, "I'm off the clock, Derek."

"Just messing with ya, Captain." Derek grinned. He turned to Mark, "Sloan, you were saying?"

"Bottom line is, there's all these pissy lil' tabloid articles about my recreational activities with numerous unsavoury ladies, and now my reputation's shot to hell! So now I gotta marry this pious penniless Noble chick, to up my reputation!" Mark complained.

"Sounds like a match made in heaven. She uses you for your money; you use her for her social standing," Derek surmised cynically. "So what part of this arrangement is upsetting you, exactly?"

Mark stubbed out the remains of his cigar, pulling out another. Lighting it, he sucked hard on its cancerous fumes. Catching Richard staring, he slid a cigar into the Captain's hands, lighting Webber up. Webber nodded with curt appreciation. Mark turned back to Derek.

"What's _upsetting _me, is that chick over there," Mark grumbled, nodding towards the petite brunette in the golden can-can bikini. "I've seen her around at parties and such, dancing up a storm. My staff have even hired her for a number of parties my company has managed."

Derek tracked Mark's eyes. "What, Lexie?!" he gasped, shocked.

"That's her name, is it?" Mark asked, intrigued. "Lexie… beautiful name for a beautiful girl…"

Derek shook his head, "No, no way man. You stay the hell away from her."

"What's it to you?!" Mark demanded.

"She's my wife's sister," Derek warned. "So I don't need you satiating your appetite; then disposing of her like yesterday's trash, we clear?"

Mark stared at his emptying whiskey glass, sighing deeply, "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?!" Derek snapped.

Mark shrugged. Frankly, he didn't know. All he knew was that he'd never felt this way for anyone in the history of lust. As hard as he tried, he couldn't satiate these feelings with whiskey, cigars or even cheating. No, truth was, every time he looked at this Lexie-girl, his stomach erupted into butterflies.

Derek scrutinized Mark's face closely, "Oh God. You're in love with her, aren't you?"

* * *

Just like Heaven - The Cure

I found myself alone, alone

Alone above a raging sea

That stole the only girl I loved

And drowned her deep inside of me


	6. Always

Callie lay in bed, her body straight and rigid as a rod. The gentle left-right rocking of the Titanic did nothing to quell her silent rage. The son of a bitch was at it again. Best case scenario? Getting roaring-drunk as per usual. Worst case scenario? Cheating on her again.

Neither were particularly savoury choices, but what choice did Callie have? As her widowed father had made crystal clear, she was not the Master of her own destiny. At 2:15 am, sure enough, Mark Sloan, future Shitty-Husband, burst through the double doors of the Penthouse Suite, smelling like a Distillery.

"Callie, my dear!" he slurred. "Come give your hubby a kiss!"

Instantly enraged, Callie grasped a silk-woven nightingale pillow, and hurled it at her fiancé. It smacked him squarely in the face. So much for a _kiss_. Score 1 for Torres, 0 for Sloan.

"Ohhh do calm down, woman. It's just a harmless night out. A lil' night of fun," Mark mumbled, flopping drunkenly onto the grand mahogany double-poster bed.

"You're pathetic," Callie muttered scathingly. "I stayed up all night waiting for you! And you're out doing God knows what with God knows who!"

In response, Mark made a vague sweeping hand gesture, "You shouldn't be so tetchy. I mean, look at this place! Do I not provide wonderfully for you?! The least you can do is show me a little-"

Before Mark could even complete his slurry speech, he descended into intoxicated oblivion. Callie could hear the obnoxious guttural snoring emanating from his nose and throat. The sound was stomach churning.

"Zzzzzzz… Snort, Snore… ZZZZzzzzzzz… Snore…"

"God! What a vile disgusting man," Callie scowled. "I can't believe this is the man Papa wants me to marry! Are there no decent human beings with deep pockets left these days?!"

Sir Sloan replied Callie's rhetorical question, as any unconscious husband would: "ZZzzzzzzzz… Cough… ZZZZzzzz… Snore…"

* * *

"Get up! UP!" Callie ordered, smacking Mark over the head with a pillow.

Waking up with a start, Mark glanced around drowsily, squinting at the morning sunlight filtering through the windows of the First-Class Suite. "Uuughhh, what now, woman?" he groaned.

"Breakfast with our folks, Prof. Starks, Lt. Marlow and Lady Rubenstein. UP. NOW!" Callie shouted.

Mark put his palms up in front of him, "Okay okay! Geez, keep your panties on!" he whined.

Callie tore the 10,000 royal thread-counted sheets off Mark roughly. "We're already late, so get your ass out of bed!"

"If only you were this feisty in the bedroom," he muttered resentfully out of Callie's earshot. Callie threw a bundle of fancy Hugo Boss clothes Mark's way. Mark rifled through the pile of clothes listlessly.

"Where's all this anger coming from, anyway?" he asked grumpily.

"Perhaps from the lipstick marks I found on the collar of your shirt last night!" Callie cried shrilly.

Mark's hand subconsciously stroked the part of his neck where the petite brunette alabaster-fair Can-Can dancer had kissed him last night. As clouded as his mind had been with Whiskey, he could remember the sweet tenderness of that kiss, in all its glorious detail. _Alexandra Caroline Grey… _

"You asshole, what have you got to say for yourself?!" Callie snapped. Blushing crimson, Mark snapped hastily out of his private reverie, shaking his head vigorously.

"Honey, it's not what it looks like. See, last night, some woman hugged me in a strictly platonic way, but accidentally got a touch of her lipst-"

"I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses! Out the door NOW!" Callie interrupted, shrilly.

Mark quickly obliged, hastily pulling on his trousers, shirt and tie. _Boy oh Boy, is this gonna be one long goddamned Breakfast… _he sighed inwardly, as Callie trotted out of the penthouse suite.

* * *

"Ahh there you two are!" Lady Anastasia Sloan said brightly. "Come, do have a seat before breakfast turns cold!"

Callie and Mark, their faces both sour as lemons, sat down at opposite ends of the table. "Oh my, look at you both. You look so… How do I put this politely? Exhausted, unkempt and unsightly! Goodness, where are your basic grooming habits?" Anastasia chided.

Catching sight of his daughter and future Son-in-Law's grouchy faces and disheveled appearances, Carlos Torres hastily stepped in to smooth the negative first-impression. It was obvious to him the young couple were fresh out of a quarrel, but Lady Anastasia did not need to know that. Not if Carlos wanted a slice of their delicious wealth, that is.

"It's only natural they should look tired, given that… well, we needn't go there, need we?" Carlos smiled tightly. Callie crinkled her nose in disgust. Mark raised his eyebrows.

Anastasia clapped her hands, delighted and amused. "Why of course! What else could we expect from a young hot-blooded newly-engaged couple!"

Anastasia nudged Mark playfully in the ribs. "Darling, you should've seen your father and I when we first got engaged," she winked. "We were like rabbits in a playpen!"

"Mother, don't." Mark muttered, embarrassed.

"Ohh lighten up, son!" Lady Anastasia laughed airily. She turned to Lieutenant Colin Marlow, striking up small-talk. "Ohh Colin, pray tell, what are your thoughts on those… Homosexuals?"

"Alas you must've heard it on the news yesterday! Lesbians parading the streets with ridiculous colourful placards, crying civil rights! Appalling. Absolutely appalling."

Professor Robert Starks leaned in confidentially, "Apparently these hooligans are headed by some wayward poverty-stricken blonde teenage girl! She is all but eighteen years of age! Would you believe the shenanigans the Working Class get up to these days?!"

"Ahh yes, that hooligan child… I believe she had a month-long stint in prison for being a Public Nuisance! What is her name again?" Sir Bartholomew Sloan enquired.

"Arizona Robbins," Lady Anastasia scowled. The round table murmured their assenting disdain.

"That's what happens when the working class haven't enough work to do. Idle hands make for Idle thoughts!" Helen Rubenstein piped up. The other ladies and gents seated at the table turned their noses up at Helen, pretending she hadn't said a word.

Lady Anastasia leaned into Callie, whispering nastily into her ear, "She thinks that just because she married Saul Rubenstein, she's no longer a low-rent Chink. Well, she ought to get back on that leaky boat of hers, and return to the Orient."

"Pfft. Homosexuals. They're nothing but Degenerates, all of them. One day they'll feel the pointy end of God's wrath," Carlos Torres spat, his heart full of righteous Catholic rage. The round table nodded their approval.

* * *

Callie took a sip of chamomile tea, watching the circle of appalled young faces.

"Society back then was not nearly as liberal as it is today. For one thing, racism was significant towards recent migrants, particularly the Chinese. So I needn't tell you the silent hatred the wealthy felt towards Helen Rubenstein, as a woman who'd become instantly rich overnight after marrying a Jewish Shipping Tycoon."

"Helen Rubenstein was in fact South Korean, but such distinctions didn't matter to rich conservatives like the Sloans. Helen was what Lady Anastasia called 'New Money'. She was a tough talking straight-shooter who dressed in the finery of her genteel peers but will never be one of them. And as for homophobia? Gays were the only individuals the wealthy detested more than ethnic immigrants."

Brock Karev shook his head empathetically, "But seriously, that was a really douchey thing for your Pop to say, calling gays Degenerates. That must've hurt like a bitch."

Callie chuckled lightly, "On any other day I would've been devastated by his words. But at that moment, all I could think about was that fascinating blonde rebel girl. It was the first time I'd ever heard of her, this mysterious Arizona Robbins. But something in the disdainful way my arrogant counterparts discussed her, made me instantly drawn to her."

Callie paused, slipping a tendril of silver hair behind her ear. "It is as if I knew, even before we'd ever met, that she was destined to mean _everything _to me."

* * *

Always - Blink 182

Come on let me hold you,

touch you, feel you

Always

Kiss you, taste you, all night

Always


	7. She's so High

Elizabeth Robbins handed her grandmother a fresh steaming hot teacup of Ceylon tea, which Callie sipped on daintily, with her pinky finger pointed outwards. The circle of young faces waited patiently for Part II of Callie's story.

"By the next afternoon we had made our final stop and we were steaming west from the coast of Ireland, with nothing out ahead of us but ocean…"

* * *

The Titanic cut through the endless blanket of ocean stretching out into the horizon. With her wispy fair hair tied back in a lose ponytail, Arizona sat on a bench under the sun, her knees pulled up to her chest. Resting on her knees was her only valuable possession. A single tattered sketchbook.

With a brittle slaver of charcoal, Arizona drew rapidly, with quick surefire strokes. Upon the page, a beautiful teenage girl took form. She stood gracefully at the railings, with her back to Arizona. Her long shiny black hair cascaded down her back, all the way to her waist.

She wore a silk pastel gown, and the hems of the dress swept the deck as she walked. Around her shoulders was a dainty gauze shawl, embroidered with gold thread. She was the definition of class. Arizona rubbed the side of the charcoal heavily through the girl's hair, colouring it raven-black. As she drew, the drawing took a life of its own, full of humanity, full of grace.

Jackson Avery strolled over, admiring the drawing. "Dude, you're good. Really good."

"If only she'd turn around, so I could draw her face," Arizona mumbled.

Jackson let out a low whistle, "Well from what I can tell, without seeing her face, she ticks all the boxes. Gorgeous hair, beautiful dress, sexy apple-bottom."

"Shhh Avery, don't distract me," Arizona said distractedly, her eyes flitting from the girl to the page.

"I've never seen you so intense about a sketch before. I take it, you like what you see?" Jackson smirked, nodding at the lone girl.

"Avery, I have ten minutes tops, to capture her before she strolls out of my life forever, so just… just let me concentrate, okay?" Arizona muttered impatiently.

She wanted nothing more than for Jackson to leave her be so she could have a moment to immortalize this beautiful creature before her. Jackson slapped Arizona on the back mirthfully.

"Well you got great taste, I'll give you that," he laughed, appraising the girl with his eyes. "But I'll be honest with you. That chick's got nothing on that cute brunette from the nightly Cabaret… That Lexie-babe, she's got it going on! A sure-fire 10/10. That girl you're drawing, I'd rate her a solid 8.5."

Arizona ignored Jackson's chatter, which sounded to her like white noise in the face of the Latino girl's extraordinary beauty. She ran her eraser through the girl's charcoal hair, capturing the way the sunshine bounced off the girl's luscious shiny hair. This was, without a doubt, her greatest masterpiece yet. Peeling off her white broad-rimmed hat, the beautiful girl hurled it over the side of the Ship. The hat fell to the water, a single white speck in the ocean, as the waves swept it away. Jackson shook his head at his obviously smitten friend.

Suddenly, without warning, the princess in the lemon-pastel gown, whipped around, and Arizona finally caught a much-longed for glimpse of her face. She was, simply put, stunning. Arizona's splinter of charcoal dropped out her hand and rolled onto the deck. She couldn't take her eyes of the vision before her. Smooth Café Au Latte skin, dark chocolate eyes fringed with heavy black lashes, smooth red-wine lips.

The exotic girl's dark eyes met Arizona's fair ones, from across the Promenade. Arizona blushed crimson, caught in the act of staring. But she didn't look away. She _could not _look away. Those dark woeful eyes commanded her full and undivided attention. For a fleeting moment, time stands still, as two strangers watch each other, communicating silently across the gulf that separated their two worlds.

Snapping Arizona out of her private reverie, a tall muscular ashy-haired man in a pricey Muslin cotton shirt and beige pressed trousers approached the girl, taking her by the arm. She jerked her arm away, and the pair proceeded to argue in pantomime.

"Sir Sloan?! No way…" Jackson whispered, impressed at the B-league celebrity-sighting. "Son of a bitch could buy out this Ship!"

Upset and enraged, the beautiful girl stormed away from the pseudo-celeb, her long black hair flying as she ran. The man rolled his eyes and groaned with frustration, before giving chase. The couple disappeared along the A-deck promenade. Arizona stared after her, dreamy and mesmerized. Never in her life had she seen such beauty. The girl was like Nefertiti Queen of Egypt reincarnated.

Jackson squeezed her shoulder sympathetically, "There's no way to compete with him, my friend."

"Why would you say that?" Arizona asked earnestly.

"Dude, that's Sir Mark Sloan. The guy's a millionaire. Honestly, the sun would sooner fall out of the sky than for a woman like her to fall for people like us," Jackson explained.

"No, see, I don't agree with that. I have a feeling there's more to her than meets the eye," Arizona whispered.

* * *

Elizabeth Robbins felt her heart catch in her throat. My God, she was listening to her Grammy tell the story of how she met her Nana for the first time! It was all crystal clear now. All these years, every time somebody, be it a relative of a friend, asked about how the two met, they would smile knowingly at each other, and proffer nothing more than a vague _non-answer_. Only now, ten years after Nana's passing, Grammy was opening up about their beginnings.

"I saw my whole life as if I'd already lived it. An endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. I felt like I was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull me back, no one who cared, or even noticed… And my fiancé, he was essentially, the final straw upon the figurative camel's back. His blatantly unapologetic adultery was more than I could take."

* * *

"Poor Lady Calliope!"

"That man has no standards."

"Good lord, she must be devastated!"

"Would you believe? A Can-Can Dancer, of all women!"

"Have you heard? Him and that crass little Cabaret performer?"

"I suppose it was unrealistic to expect a man like him to ever settle down!"

"Hmm… I believe her name is Alexis… Or Alexia. Something like that, surnamed Grey."

"Well his company's going to tank, right about now, isn't it? So much for the Institution of marriage!"

Callie walked stiffly along the corridor. She had overheard it, the Late-Night Poker Table gossip about her fiancé. A steward greeted Callie, and she nodded slightly, struggling to maintain her composure. Entering the Penthouse Suite, she closed the door gently, walking calmly to the mirror. Staring at her reflection, she felt the grips of a sudden primal rage.

Overtaken by raging emotions, Callie began clawing at her throat. Ripping off her pearl necklace, it exploded across the room. In a hysterical frenzy, she started tearing at herself, her clothes, her hair… Following which, she began attacking the luxurious suite. She ran along the room, flinging everything off the dresser, sending numerous bottles of perfume, facial creams and alcoholic beverages smashing against the marble floor.

Still, it was not enough. Callie's grief had not yet outrun its course, in fact, it was only just beginning. Tearing out of the suite, she ran along the B deck promenade, her long black hair flying. She was sobbing loudly, her face red with fury. Shaking with emotions she could barely understand, let alone handle (_rage, self-loathing and desperation_), she shoved past a strolling couple, who were instantly appalled by her unseemly public display of emotions.

* * *

It was midnight, the perfect time of the day in Arizona's opinion, for this was the only time the decks were completely deserted, providing Arizona with a few precious moments of peaceful solitude. Lying on the bench, her wispy blonde hair spread out like a golden fan, she gazed up at the heavens, admiring the glorious twinkling stars.

Arizona sat up suddenly, interrupted by the clip-clop sounds of haphazard footsteps hurrying along the deck. She could just make out the sounds of angry stifled sobs. As she searched through the deserted decks for the source of the sound, she spotted a familiar figure racing towards the Ship's railings. The latest addition to Arizona's sketchbook and Arizona's dreams…

It was the melancholic raven-haired beauty.

* * *

She's so high - Tal Bachman

She's so high

High above me, she's so lovely

She's so high

Like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite

She's so high, high above me


	8. Kiss me

**A/N: **Finally, the much anticipated Calzona meeting :D Please enjoy & review. Thank you all so much for the reviews, favs, follows! Love you all XOXO

* * *

Arizona watched on as Callie raced across the deserted fantail, her breath hitching with each occasional sob, which she was trying (very much in vain) to contain. Callie slammed against the base of the stern flagpole, clinging to it, panting heavily. She stared desperately out at the black churning water below, and proceeded to remove her ruby shoes.

Then to Arizona's horror, Callie began climbing over the railing! Arizona's heart raced at a thousand miles per hour, witnessing the horrific sight. Callie wore a long crimson chiffon dress, finished with black jewels and dark lacing. It was without a doubt, a beautiful dress for ones' final night on Earth. Climbing to her death, Callie resembled a Spanish Shakespearean Juliet. The only question was, where was her Romeo? He certainly wasn't seated at the Cabaret, sucking on cigars and a certain Little-Grey's lips.

Moving methodically, Callie turned her body, placing her heels on the white-painted gunwale, her back facing towards the black oblivion of the ocean. Below, large sinister propellers churned the black water into white foam, leaving a ghostly trail in the Titanic's wake. Callie leaned outwards, stretching her arms, looking down hypnotized, into the vortex below her. The brisk nightly winds, whipped her black hair into a frenzy, as she prepared for her lonely descent.

"Don't do it!" a desperate voice called out.

Callie whipped her head around at the sound of the woman's voice. Her eyes fell upon a radiant young blonde woman, her fresh-faced beauty, belied by her shaggy man-clothes. She wore a baggy pair of cargo pants with charcoal stains on it, a tattered cotton grey t-shirt, a navy blue workman's jacket… and bare feet.

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" Callie shouted. Arizona could see tear tracks on Callie's cheeks, under the faint glow of the ship's dim lighting.

"Take my hand. I'll pull you back in," Arizona spoke gently, proffering her hand.

"No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I'll let go," Callie warned shakily.

Arizona threw the Spanish Juliet a meaningful look, "No you won't."

An instant flurry of renewed rage filled Callie's heart. "What do you mean, no I won't?! Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me!"

"You would have done it already," Arizona reasoned sagely. "Now come on, take my hand."

Callie glanced around, confused. Wiping stray tears on the sleeve of her crimson dress, she swayed precariously on the Ship's edge. "You're distracting me. Go away," she muttered.

"I can't. I'm involved now. If you let go I have to jump in after you," Arizona said simply, pulling off her jacket, and letting it drop to the decks.

"You're crazy!" Callie shrieked.

Arizona smiled wanly, "With all due respect, I'm not the one hanging off the edge of a ship."

"Look, I know how this looks," Callie said defensively. "You probably think I'm some kind of spoilt ungrateful brat, but you have no idea what I'm going through right now!"

Arizona shook her head slightly, "You're right, I don't. So why don't you climb off the edge and fill me in?"

Arizona extended her hand once more, "Give me your hand; you don't need to do this. I promise, I'm not judging you." Callie frowned confused. Someone who wasn't judging her? That was new. She shook her head vigorously, renewed tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I can't do this, I can't go back there, not to _him,_" she spat. "Honestly, you should just go, just get out of here. Let me alone."

"I can't, not when I don't know if I'll need to jump in after you," Arizona said gently.

Callie laughed bitterly, "Please. My fiance wouldn't even bother throwing me a life-float if it meant breaking a sweat under his thousand-count silk shirt."

"I'm not your fiance," Arizona said simply. _But that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to be, some time in the future. _

"Right, exactly. I'm nothing to you. You don't even know me, and you sure as hell don't owe me anything. I mean really, as if you'd kill yourself to save a stranger," Callie retorted.

Arizona raised her eyebrows, "Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me," she teased gently.

In spite of herself, Callie smiled. A warm, wide, bright smile; one of bewildered bemusement. Catching Arizona by surprise, it completely bowled her over, sending her eighteen-year-young heart fluttering in a chaotic frenzy. She hadn't seen the girl smile before. It was gorgeous, radiant. The kind of smile Arizona knew was worth all the infinite sulking, quarrels and temper tantrums of the world.

"There it is, the smile I've been dying to see," said Arizona whispered.

Callie blushed, all against her will. "W-Why would my smile matter to you?" she muttered.

"Because it's beautiful. Because _you're _beautiful. Because I think first impressions count for everything, and my gut instinct tells me you have a lot to offer the world, you just don't know it yet."

"I know what I have to offer. Nothing. I'd be a bird in the golden cage, for the rest of my life, some rich man's trophy."

Arizona shook her head, "Not if you don't want to be. We all have choices."

"That's easy for you to say. You don't have anything to lose, no money, no status. What would you know about choices?" Callie said bitterly.

Arizona smiled wanly, "You're right. What do I know? I didn't even have the luxury of going to school. You probably know infinitely more than I ever will. All I know is," Arizona gestured to the ocean below, "It would be a damn shame for that smile of yours to disappear under all that water."

"I guess," Callie said quietly, "But I just, I can't… There's no escaping this. I haven't anything to live for."

Arizona stepped closer. "Well, may I be so bold as to suggest something for which you might live for?"

Callie stared into Arizona's earnest blue eyes, and all at once, the deadly roar of the ocean and howl of the wind seemed to stand to a halt. Callie gripped the railings tightly, feeling for the first time, that she might not want to let go. Not if it meant losing this beautiful face before her.

"You may," Callie breathed.

Arizona placed a single hand on the small of Callie's back, lest Callie plunge into the dark water below. Separated by a metal railing and the distance of two infinitely different social classes, Arizona leaned in, pressing her lips gently against Callie's… And just like that, with the heat of Arizona's lips coursing from Callie's lips, to her veins, to her heart, to her soul, Callie knew. Right then an there, there was a point to this little thing called life, after all.

* * *

Kiss me - Sixpence None the Richer

Kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance

Silver moon's sparkling

So kiss me


End file.
